


(7) Days

by Sarcasticles



Series: (7) Series [7]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon Compliant, Celestial Dragons, Diplomacy, Gen, Politics, Seriously Otohime is the best, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2019-08-14 03:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16484972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcasticles/pseuds/Sarcasticles
Summary: They said negotiating with the Celestial Dragons was impossible. She had a week to prove them wrong.





	1. Prologue

Otohime unwrapped the last of her bandages, carefully inspecting the skin underneath. A faint line of pink, newly healed skin marked the outside of her bicep. The area was tender to touch, but the Queen of Fishman Island was not hampered by the wound. She doubted it would even scar.

Her frail body held numerous blemishes: A motley bruise from when her oldest son had grabbed her too hard in excitement, a bump on her right wrist from a compound fracture healed years ago, the Cesarean scar on her belly from her daughter's birth. Otohime's body was an amalgamation of aches and pains that went beyond what was expected for a woman just past forty. And yet, somehow, the small pink line—the result of an errant gunshot—outweighed them all.

"Otohime, did you hear me? A ship has been prepared for the Celestial Dragon. The doctors say he is healed enough to return to the surface," her husband said nervously from the doorway of their bedroom. Her pensive silence worried him. Otohime's heart was more in-tune with Neptune's than anyone else in the world. They had endured so much together, both as husband and wife and rulers of their beloved homeland. She relied on his strength more than he realized, an anchor that kept her grounded in these turbulent seas.

Could she truly stand to leave him?

Did she have any other choice?

"When does he leave?" Otohime asked.

"Immediately. The guards report growing…discontent among the hospital staff. They worry about safety, both his and ours."

Otohime nodded thoughtfully. She had visited Saint Mysogard several times since he graced the sea floor with his presence, and general consensus was that he was infinitely more likable unconscious. The patience of even the most level-headed staff grew thin after being bombarded by speciest slurs and the hateful rhetoric that prevailed among the high nobility.

"Very well, let us see him home," Otohime said.

"Otohime, I know you've tried speaking to him about the petition, but he's not the one you're looking for," Neptune said. "He tried to kill you after you saved his life. There's no bargaining with a man like that."

His voice creaked with desperate pleading, his worry unspoken but understood. Otohime swept across the bedroom and looked up at him. Creases of anxiety and worry framed clear blue eyes the color of a sky she had never seen. How many years had been since she had fallen in love with those eyes?

He leaned down as she reached up to touch his cheek, and before either of them knew exactly what was happening their lips crashed together in a passionate embrace.

After two decades of marriage and four children, Otohime thought she knew all of Neptune's kisses, but she was wrong. She felt his torment as he clung desperately to her. He loved her as few men loved. It sparked a fire in his soul and softened a heart hardened by a lifetime of war and hate. Neptune was a warrior who would protect her with all his strength, and as he kissed her in a way she had never been kissed before, he silently begged for her not to go where he could not follow.

Finally the need for air broke them apart. Otohime stared up at him, a little breathless. It was with tears in her eyes that she smiled at him and said, "I know."

* * *

Otohime had to hurry to reach the ship before Saint Mysogard set off. Even before the familiar resin bubble came into view she heard him snarl threats at the armed guard Neptune had assigned to accompany him to the surface. The effect was undercut by the swaths of pristine white bandages still wrapped around his head—quite unnecessarily, if Otohime understood the doctors correctly. Saint Mysogard's mane of light green hair was likewise in messy disarray, and it appeared that he had misfastened the demi cloak to his bulky white suit. Of course he had refused to be touched by members of the 'inferior species' any more than necessary, and a lifetime of being waited on hand and foot by slaves meant he had never learned to manage such matters himself.

"I won't forget this, you stinking fish! The nerve of you all…Livestock, turning against your rightful masters! I'll make you regret the day you crossed the Celestial Dragons."

The crowd bristled with barely-suppressed rage. Otohime was grateful for Neptune's foresight assigning only the most mild-mannered of his guard to escort Saint Mysogard to the surface. The Dragon neither knew nor cared about his brazen ingratitude as he tossed his head haughtily and ascended to the ship.

For a moment Otohime hesitated. Doubt was an emotion she wasn't used to feeling in herself, and she didn't like it. Not one bit. Never in her life had she felt such arrogance in another being, such delusions of grandeur and importance. She had always known that the Celestial Dragons called themselves gods, but it was one thing to know a thing and another to experience it for herself.

Otohime ignored the nagging feeling of unease and stepped forward. She was accustomed to putting the needs of others before herself, and besides, what did her discomfort matter with the future of her country so uncertain? If she did not act now she might never get another chance.

She felt the four Voices of her children behind her, nearly as familiar as her husband. They were watching her every move,  _learning_ from her example. Otohime had taught them there was no reason to fear humanity.

It was time to show them that truth.

"Wait! Please!" Otohime cried. "We still have so much to discuss. I will accompany you to the surface."

An uproar went through the crowd, but Neptune's voice was greatest of them all. "Otohime, stop! I cannot allow such recklessness. If you truly wish to negotiate with the humans,  _I_ will go instead!"

He meant every word. His love for her outweighed his hatred for the humans, and he would do anything to take her place. Otohime's heart broke, and she shook her head.

"It would be meaningless for you to go," Otohime said. "It would accomplish nothing if a powerful warrior went to the surface, but if a frail woman was able to return unharmed…This is the only way to prove the surface is safe for our people."

His fear was almost palpable, and Otohime smiled reassuringly.

"Have faith in the wife whom you chose…and in the humans."

There was nothing more to be said. Otohime turned her back on her family and country and boarded the ship headed toward an uncertain future. Their worry and anxiety and fear intermingled with her own, but Otohime tempered it with hope.

"I will be back," Otohime whispered to herself, "and I will not have gone in vain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, the last in my series exploring racism, classism, and slavery in the world of One Piece. As always, I would appreciate if you check out my other works but they're not required for reading this fic. Sharp eyed readers will notice an overlap of characters--in fact, this is the only story in the series where at least one previously shown character from every previous fic will make an appearance. 
> 
> It's my hope to finish this series on a high note. I've tried to structure things in a way where it goes from worst to best, starting in Words with the suicide of a nameless nobody who gets mentioned all of one time in the manga and now ending with the story of one person trying to change the system for the better. This is something I've literally been working on for years, and it's kind of wild to see it come to fruition. In fact, it was the idea for Days that kicked off this entire project, but when I first conceptualized writing about Otohime's time on Mariejois I knew I wasn't a strong enough storyteller to do the concept justice. 
> 
> Hopefully that's changed, and I'm super excited to finally put the ideas that have been rattling around in my head for nearly a decade onto metaphorical paper. Days is likely to be the most ambitious story I've ever told. I'm currently 17000 words in and nowhere near done. So strap in folks, this is going to be a long ride. 
> 
> And lastly, I don't typically hound for comments but this story, possibly more than any other I've written, means a lot to me, so I'd appreciate whatever feedback I can get, whether that's positive or negative. Otohime is an awesome and shamefully underappreciated character, and I want to do her every justice.


	2. First Contact

Saint Mysogard sequestered himself from the crew as soon as they boarded, barricading himself in what normally would be the captain's quarters. Otohime tried briefly to speak with him through the heavy doorway, but Celestial Dragon was set on sulking like a petulant child, and she was forced to give up as they launched out of the protective bubble of Fishman Island.

Instead she helped the crew in any way she could. Otohime was no sailor, but there were dozens of odd jobs that needed to be done even as they were pulled upward by a domesticated sea king. Of course the guards balked at her assistance, but they were helpless to say no against to their queen. Two rope burns and a vicious splinter later, the captain tactfully pulled Otohime aside and quietly suggested that perhaps it was best to let the professionals manage the boat, and if she truly wanted to help why not use her ability to scan the water for threats.

This was something Otohime could do. The depths of the sea were dangerous even for the strongest of their race, and it was paramount that their bubble coating remain intact, for of course Saint Mysogard couldn't survive the ocean without it.

"He thinks he's a god, but he can't even breathe under water," one of the ammo knights muttered under his breath.

"The Celestial Dragons are as human as the rest of their race," Otohime said. "I intend to remind Saint Mysogard of that fact. Oh, and beware of the sea king one hundred meters starboard side."

The crew was silent after that, their unease sour against Otohime's Observation.

Between Otohime's talent and the crew's skill the journey went well. There were a handful of tense moments, the greatest of which when a turtle the size of a small island swam too close for comfort, but they were expertly navigated. No light pierced this deep, and even inside the resin bubble Otohime could feel the chill of the water. Her mind brushed against the ancient beats that roamed the seas. They were alien and unfathomable against her senses, well beyond her ability to communicate with.

Briefly Otohime's thoughts wandered to her daughter. A small part of her worried that Saint Mysogard saw Shirahoshi call the sea kings. It was an irrational but annoyingly persistent fear. She reminded herself again and again that the Dragon had fallen unconscious at the sight of them, and even if he  _had_  seen there was no reason for him to equate a child's cries with their sudden appearance. There was no one outside of the royal family that knew the legend of the mermaid princess.

At least that's what Otohime hoped.

She was forced to push away her fears as they neared the surface, excitement taking its place. Otohime clenched the railing, her heart thrumming with anticipation as beams of light began to filter through the clear ocean waters. Unlike others on the island she had never been near the surface. She had always been too fragile—and after her engagement to Neptune too important—to risk such dangerous waters.

Presently she felt the ship's captain come beside her. The man was one of Neptune's ammo knights, steadfast in courage and accustomed to the role of leadership. He cleared his throat delicately.

"Your Highness, we will be breaching the surface soon. I was wondering of our orders once we, er, drop off our cargo."

Otohime smiled at that. "I don't know."

"What?"

"I don't know." Otohime said simply. "Everything depends on what happens once we reach Mariejois. Perhaps we will be greeted with open arms. Perhaps we will be attacked by a marine admiral. Likely our welcome will lie somewhere between those two extremes, but we are in uncharted waters, Captain."

"Your Highness, your safety is my greatest priority," he said. "I understand your mission, but if we are attacked we flee. I don't care if the Dragon's disembarked or not."

Otohime shook her head emphatically. "Absolutely not. We must do everything in our power not to present ourselves as a hostile force. Tensions between Fishman Island and the World Government are at the highest they've ever been. We must seek peace, or more blood will be shed."

"Are things really that bad? I thought Jimbe joined the Warlords of the Sea to promote good relations."

"Whitebeard's flag still flies over our island, not that of the World Government," Otohime said. "The Celestial Dragons won't forget Fisher Tiger's actions anytime soon."

"Sod the Celestial Dragons," the captain said. "The World Government has done nothing for Fishman Island."

"An oversight I look to correct, but only if I can make my voice heard," Otohime said. She implored him, "No matter what happens to me, Saint Mysogard _must_ make it to Mariejois alive."

He nodded, but Otohime couldn't tell if it was simply to pacify her, before drifting away. Someone shouted for her to brace herself, and Otohime gripped the banister with all her strength as they launched through the surface. The force burst the resin bubble with an audible  _pop_ , and the sudden force nearly launched Otohime from her fins.

It took a few moments for queen and crew to regather themselves. The sun burned high and hot, the kiss of summer melting away the cold of the sea. Otohime blinked against its blinding light. Shielding her eyes, she looked up at the ocean's surface.

The ruddy cliffs of the Red Line dominated her field of vision. Otohime gaped, sure she looked like a child as she tried to take in the whole of its majesty all at once, but she did not care. She _felt_  a childlike wonder as she saw the surface for the first time. The sky stretched endlessly beyond the horizon, broken only by white clouds that looked like white puffs of cotton nearly close enough to touch. 

And the air! Otohime never realized how  _dead_  the air inside Fishman Island was until she was confronted with the briny gusts of wind that filled the sails of the boat. Otohime laughed delightedly at it all, craning her neck in an attempt to see the top of the mountain that Fisher Tiger had scaled with his bare hands. It was impossible; the heights of the Red Line were shrouded in mist and cloud.

Sea, sky, and land met at the base of Mariejois, the scale of each incomprehensible. It was more than Otohime ever could have imagined, and not even Saint Mysogard stumbling out of the captain's quarters could ruin the mood.

"You call that a landing!" he screeched, his face nearly as green as his hair. The Dragon wobbled to the railing before vomiting copiously into the open sea. "Get me a helmet, you stupid fish! I can't breathe this contaminated air, I'll die!" The resin bubble he had been given seemed to have popped somewhere along their journey.

"There are no helmets to be had," Otohime said calmly. "Although to be frank, it looks like a little fresh air would do you some good."

Saint Mysogard didn't hear over the sound of his own moaning. "Goddamn it, I hate you all. Hurry up and get to the Red Port."

Otohime smiled and bade the crew to do as he said.

* * *

A procession awaited them at the base of the Red Line, and to call their greeting unfriendly would have been the understatement of the century. They were surrounded by men-of-war that dwarfed their vessel, each manned to the teeth with marines and Government officials. Even a white flag raised in peace was enough to get the humans to lower their arms. Outnumbered and outgunned, tensions among the ammo knights stretched like a taunt bowstring. 

"Your Highness, I don't like this," the captain murmured.

"We have done nothing wrong," Otohime said.

Strangely enough, Saint Mysogard's nerves were nearly as bad as the crew. He trembled with a very ungodlike fear, and for a moment his imperious bluster was silenced. Though she couldn't discern its cause, Otohime tucked this reaction away to ponder at a later time

Fortunately hey were allowed to dock without hostilities. As they neared the humans Otohime could taste  _their_  fear—so similar to that of the crew—and realized how this must look from their point of view. For all they knew Saint Mysogard was being held hostage. The Celestial Dragons would stop at nothing to ensure the safety of one of their own, especially with the destruction Fisher Tiger wrought still fresh in their minds.

Otohime closed her eyes and extended her senses. Two…no,  _three_  Voices stood out from the rest, indomitable spirits that blazed like the sun overhead. She could almost smell the blood on their hands. Warriors then, most likely high ranking members of the marines.

The humans had come ready for war, and the only weapons she had were her words. Otohime gathered herself quietly as they docked, thinking hard of how to diffuse the situation. As soon as the gangplank touched the ground Saint Mysogard ran off the ship. One of the crew moved to stop him, but Otohime raised her hand.

"Let him go. It's a sign of good faith."

"Your Highness, he's the only protection that we have."

Otohime shook her head stubbornly. "Stay here. I will speak with the humans."

"Your Highness!"

Otohime silenced him with a shake of the head and followed the Celestial Dragon, hands tucked in the sleeves of her kimono. Low-ranking marines parted in her wake, leaving a path that led to a two barrel-chested men and a short, thin woman. Each wore a pristine suit with white officer jackets that hung from their shoulders. Otohime knew at once that these were the three powerful Voices she had identified.

The taller of the two man stepped forward, authority radiating with every step. He wore a marine hat that had, of all things, a stuffed seagull attached to the top. When there was a discerning intelligence to his eyes, nearly hidden behind thick round spectacles as he peered down at her. He was slow to speak, a sign Otohime took in her favor, and after a few uncomfortable moments Otohime took it upon herself to break the silence.

"Hello, my name is Queen Otohime, of Fishman Island," she said. "We have come to return the Celestial Dragon Saint Mysogard safely to the surface after the unfortunate destruction of his ship en route to Fishman Island. Is there some place we could talk?"

The man's eyes flickered from Otohime's diminutive figure, and then to their comparatively diminutive ship. Some of the tension eased out of his face. "Yes, of course. My name is Admiral Sengoku. Forgive your poor reception, but we've also been commanded to ensure the safe return of Saint Mysogard to the presence of his father."

A grunt came from the second man, his displeasure obvious as he crossed his arms. "Waste of my time."

" _Garp_ …" the woman warned.

"Well it is! If the Dragon wants to take a ship ten thousand meters under the sea than he can live with the consequences of his reckless idiocy," the man—Garp—said. "Do what you want, Tsuru, but I'm taking my men and leaving. I've got better things to do than bully a couple of mermaids."

"Mermaid," Otohime corrected reflexively. "The men aboard the ship are all fishmen."

"Like that's any better," Garp said. He spared a glance at Otohime. "Pleasure to meet you, Highness. We appreciate you bringing the Celestial Idiot home, safe and sound. I'm sure he was real grateful that you saved his sorry ass from a quick and ignoble death."

And with a sarcastic wave of the hand he was gone. Otohime was unable to stifle a gasp while the other two rubbed their temples in unison.

Garp…the name sounded familiar. Otohime grasped for the significance, but like a lifeboat drifting away from a drowning sailor it was just out of reach. A memory stirred…

_Damn that Garp never knowing when to quit! He would have had us if we hadn't gone underwater. Lucky he didn't have a coating on his ship…_

Of course! Monkey D Garp, the Hero of the Marines. Otohime had heard Edward Newgate grouse of his tenacity often enough it was a wonder she hadn't remembered immediately. He was one of the marine's greatest warriors, and he didn't give two wits about the Celestial Dragons and had no intention of fighting her men.

Had the admiral and his female marine not looked so stressed Otohime would have laughed.

The urge was gone as soon as it arrived. Otohime stiffened as an odious presence brushed against her senses. Both Admiral Sengoku and Tsuru took a respectful step backward and bowed their heads as a ring of men in dark suits approached. A man in white sat in the center of them, seated on the back of an enormous beast. Bulbous rolls of fat gathered around his neck and chin while buck teeth cut across his bottom lip, each giving him the appearance of a particularly hideous walrus. Hazel eyes glowered behind the glass bubble that denoted him as one of the high nobility, and what little of his green hair he had left identified him as Saint Mysogard's father.

Saint Mysogard himself trailed slightly behind, riding the back of a slave and a new protective bubble on his head. His expression was one of a spoiled child who had been told no for the first time.

But the father…the father was  _evil._  Otohime had never experienced anything like it before in her life, but she had no other way to describe the darkness of the Celestial Dragon's heart. Exuding from him was a corrupting ooze that devoured everything they could touch yet was never satisfied. Otohime naturally recoiled against it, her instincts yelling for her to jump into the sea and never look back.

With a lazy flick of the wrist the elder Dragon stopped the procession. A snap of the fingers caused another man to get down on his hands and knees so he could dismount from the beast, which appeared to Otohime to be some sort of dog with hands instead of paws. The animal wheezed as the weight was lifted from his back.

"Stupid, weak slave," the noble said. "I thought zoan users were supposed to be  _strong_."

The dog shuddered before transforming into the beaten, broken figure of a man, and collapsed to the ground.

 _A devil fruit user_ , Otohime realized, horror and helplessness curling in her belly.

"That's her, Daddy!" Saint Mysogard exclaimed, pointing towards Otohime. "That's the horrid creature who refused to give my slaves back!"

An unnatural hush fell over the docks. Admiral Sengoku shifted his weight nervously as Saint Mysogard's father glanced at Otohime, his eyes drinking in every feature. A terrible smile spread across his face.

"I've always wanted a mermaid in my collection," he purred. "Generally they're so hard to catch."

Needing no further cue, two of the men in black stalked forward and grabbed her by the arms. Otohime was unable to suppress a yelp of pain. 

"I can hardly believe one just  _walked_ into my possession. Today is indeed my lucky day!"

Otohime glared at one of the men holding her. His grip loosened for a fraction of a second, eyes wide in fear. Then he remembered himself and he grasped her tighter than before. Otohime could feel the growing panic of the ammo knights still on the ship. She had no way to warn them not to fire...

"Although I thought mermaids were supposed to be  _beautiful_."

His musings were cut off by the female marine at Admiral Sengoku's side. "Saint Gyro, this is the Queen of Fishman Island. She has ensured your son's safe passage to the surface and has  _come in peace_."

"So what?" Saint Gyro said.

"I very much doubt the King of Fishman Island would be pleased to hear of his wife's…prolonged presence on Mariejois," Admiral Sengoku said.

"Historically Fishman Island's rulers have been warrior-kings, proficient in battle," Tsuru added dispassionately. "Reports suggest that the current monarch has been known to defend his possessions quite vigorously."

"Are you afraid of a few  _fish?!"_  Saint Gyro sneered.

"We all know what happened the last time a fishman attacked Mariejois," Admiral Sengoku said. He bowed deferentially as all color left the Celestial Dragon's ruddy cheeks. "I will follow whatever orders you put forth, but this woman has saved your son and she comes in peace. I think it would be prudent if we at least hear what she has to say."

"You aren't here to be  _prudent,_ " Saint Gyro said. "You're here to do what I say!" He turned wrathfully towards Otohime.

"Release the fish," he commanded. "My son and I are going home. I can't stand any more of this filthy air."

Saint Mysogard whimpered, his bottom lip quivering. "Daddy, aren't you going to—"

"We're going home, Mysogard," his father snapped. His expression softened as shocked tears sprang from Saint Mysogard's eyes. "I know this has been difficult for you. Don't you worry, Daddy will make it all better."

"Can I buy a new slave? Since the stupid fish wouldn't let me have my old ones?" Mysogard asked hopefully.

Saint Mysogard favored him with an indulgent smile. "Whatever slave you'd like."

Anger, white-hot and furious, tore through Otohime. She balled her hands into fists, concentrating on the pain of nails cutting into her palms to keep silent. Though the worst of the storm was over, Otohime was acutely aware of how tenuous the situation still was. She took deep, cleansing breaths, concentrating on the salty air (not filthy at all) and the sun on her back. She had a reason to be here. She couldn't lose her temper.

When the Celestial Dragons and their cadre of men were gone everyone visibly relaxed—even the marine admiral. He stroked his beard. "I apologize on Saint Gyro's behalf. We weren't aware that you would be escorting Saint Mysogard personally to the surface."

"You can thank me by allowing me to stay until my business with the Celestial Dragons is finished," Otohime said, her eyes never leaving the backs of the World Nobles.

"You want to stay on Mariejois… _willingly?_ " Tsuru asked.

"I must second the Vice Admiral's sentiments," Admiral Sengoku said. "The marines can't protect you indefinitely."

"I am not afraid of the Dragons," Otohime said. "For two hundred years my people have been denied a seat at the Reverie, and I intend to change that."

"But…"

Otohime cut the admiral off with a steely glare. "I am invoking Fishman Island's right as a sovereign nation under the protection of the World Government. I would appreciate your cooperation, Admiral, but I do not require it. I  _will_  speak with the Celestial Dragons again."

Though Otohime was weaker than the average woman, but she had yet to lose a contest of wills. Vice Admiral Tsuru put a hand on the admiral's slumping shoulders. "She's right. The law is on her side."

Admiral Sengoku sighed. "Very well. Have someone prepare her a place in the Pangea Castle. I will notify the Government…and the nobility."

"Thank you," Otohime said.

"Don't," Admiral Sengoku said. Was it a trick of the light, or did he appear upset? "There's a reason why your kind have never participated in the Reverie. Underestimate the power of the Celestial Dragons at your own peril. You may have deflected their interests this time, Your Highness, but they still control the marines."

 _And by extension you_ , Otohime thought. She smiled at him. "My only intention is to bring fishmen and humans closer together. I don't intend to rock the boat."

A surprised, barking laugh erupted from Vice Admiral Tsuru. "Look around you, Your Highness. Forget rocking the boat, you've tipped it sideways and into the Red Line. I wish you the best of luck with your negotiations. You're going to need it."

With a respectful nod both she and the admiral took their leave with the promise they would send someone to escort her to the castle. While she waited, Otohime took one last, sweeping look, marveling at houses made out of wood and stone, trees that stretched towards the sun, and the sensation of the breeze on her skin. Water lapped contentedly on the docks below her and gulls circled lazily over the head of the marine battalion ready to shoot her at a moment's notice.

And yet, somehow, they were more afraid of her than she was of them. Otohime had already upset the status quo and lived to tell the tale. A small smile graced her lips.

Let the humans think what they want about her presence. They hadn't seen anything yet.


	3. Pangea Castle

Otohime spent the time waiting for an escort staring out at the horizon. She had to clench her hands into fists to keep them from shaking as the tension left her body as quickly as it had come, leaving her emotionally exhausted instead. Her interaction with Saint Gyro left a sour taste in her mouth and her arms throbbed, as if the humans had not let them go.

Otohime could not pretend to be entirely surprised by the Celestial Dragon's behavior, but a small part of her couldn't believe the sheer audacity it took to attempt to kidnap a foreign head of state in the presence of a marine admiral. The roots of corruption within the highest echelons of society went deeper than she could have imagined. She shuddered to think the disaster that would have occured if not for the quick thinking of Admiral Sengoku and Vice Admiral Tsuru.

Otohime could hear Neptune even now: _These are the humans you want to negotiate with? You want Fishman Island to ally with the ones who would enslave us?_

The truth was Otohime didn't. Saint Gyro repulsed her, and his son was little better. But whether she liked it or not, Fishman Island's best chance was through the World Government. It was the single largest political entity on the planet, one they were already aligned with—in theory. Change at the top had a better chance of trickling down to the common people than the other way around.

But how to facilitate negotiations? How could she talk to someone who thought her as little more than an animal? There had to be some platform for her to see eye to eye with the nobility, one that didn't rest on the threat of violence if Fishman Island didn't get its way.

There had to be, and it frustrated Otohime to no end that she couldn't see it.

Otohime took a deep breath and smoothed the front of her kimono as her ammo knights ran towards her. A dozen questions bombarded her at once, silenced with a raised hand. "Peace, all is well. Saint Mysogard has been returned to his father, and we are to stay on Mariejois for the time being."

"We saw them grab you!"

"A…misunderstanding," Otohime said. She was saved from any further explanations by a faint prickle on the edge of her consciousness. Turning, she saw a man approaching them. "Ah, there's our escort now."

He was a tall, broad shouldered man of about fifty. His features were blocky and severe, as if his face has been carved from a stone, and he carried himself like a man who was used to being invisible. Graying auburn hair was held back in a short tail, and he wore a bright red uniform that reminded Otohime of a hotel bellboy. Stopping three paces from Otohime and her men, he bowed.

"Good evening, Your Highness," the man said, his face betraying no emotion and his tone perfectly polite. "If you would please follow me, it would be my pleasure to escort you to where you will be staying for the duration of your visit."

"Of course," Otohime said.

His eyes flickered to the crew. "Separate accommodations have been provided for your retinue. To ensure the safety of Mariejois, all foreign dignitaries are limited to one servant and one personal bodyguard. Any violent or malicious intent will be dealt with swiftly and be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law under the authority of the Celestial Dragons."

"You can't be serious!" one of the crew exclaimed. "You can't expect our queen to wander around Mariejois without protection!"

"Her Highness is allowed one servant and one personal bodyguard," he repeated tonelessly. "That is the law."

Collectively the crew bristled, instinctively moving towards Otohime. She frowned slightly, turning over the idea in her mind. Each of the ammo knights Neptune selected were strong, brave, and true, but Otohime didn't think they would be of much use if the Celestial Dragons decided to act again. If only Jimbe were still in service of the crown, but, no…it was no good wishing.

Neither were any of them even remotely trained to act as a servant. Apart from the Minsters of the Left and Right she rarely employed any at all. Potential ladies-in-waiting and maid servants had to keep up with her busy schedule, and somewhere between teaching the island children and orchestrating deep sea rescues it was easier to go without.

"I think I will go alone," Otohime said quietly. That's what she had told Neptune, wasn't it? That she wanted to prove that anyone, even a frail woman, could go safely to the surface. Any protection the ammo knights might offer was offset by the damage their volatile emotions might cause. They were too suspicious of the humans, too on-edge and afraid.

A faint burst of interest came from the man in red. The emotion wasn't strong enough to be considered curiosity, more a faint blip on his radar as he processed an unusual piece of information. Then, sharing the Vice Admiral's disbelief, he said, "You would go to Mariejois… _alone?"_

"As long as I have the assurance that no harm will come to my people, yes," Otohime said.

"On the honor of the Celestial Dragons, you have my word," the man said, and he bowed again.

As he straightened himself, the man's eyes met Otohime's, dark brown locking with clear ocean blue. They were as flat as his voice, and it was at that moment Otohime realized they both knew that the Celestial Dragons had no honor to spare.

"Your Highness, please reconsider," the captain hissed in her ear. "This is madness. It's not safe to be separated—"

"It sounds like we're to be separated either way, whether we like it or not," Otohime replied coolly.

The captain's expression crumpled into hopelessness. He looked at Otohime, then the man in red. Finally he came to the conclusion that Otohime already reached, and with great effort that he said, "Then we will stay here."

"What?"

The captain nodded to himself, resolve blazing in his eyes. He whispered to Otohime, "King Neptune said we were to protect you and aid your purpose here. If you insist on going in to a sea king's nest alone, the least I can do is prevent them from using us as hostages in your negotiations." He grimaced. "Besides, one of us should be near the water should things go…poorly."

"Thank you," Otohime said quietly.

"Just…promise me you'll not take any unnecessary risks."

"I'll do my best."

"Somehow that make me feel any better," he muttered

Otohime laughed, and again she noticed the man in red studying her and the crew. The blip of interest had transformed into the low hum of someone who was thoroughly perplexed by what he saw, but didn't care enough to find out why.

"It's decided. My men will stay with our ship," Otohime said.

"Very well. I'll send someone shortly to gather your belongings. If it pleases Your Highness, I will take you to the castle now."

The man in red led Otohime away from the docks of the Red Port, cutting through the heart of the city that clung to the base of the Red Line. Otohime's discerning eye could tell that the people had prospered under the shadow of the World Government. Of course no pirates could possibly pass so near Marineford, and the constant stream of merchants and royalty passing over the Red Line ensured a steady flow of income, even after paying the tribute demanded by the Celestial Dragons.

Word of Otohime's arrival spread like wildfire through the town. Once distance was put between herself and the marine presence, humans started to crowd the streets to see what all the commotion was about. As Otohime and the man in red neared the bubble-powered bandolas nestled into the cliffs of the Red Line, the crowd had grown thick enough that people were nearly falling over themselves for the opportunity to see a mermaid in person.

"Can you see her fins?"

"How does it walk?"

"Are you sure she's from Fishman Island? She looks…almost human?"

For once, Otohime sensed nothing malicious in their questions. She smiled, waving at a little girl clinging to her mother's skirts. The child screeched delightedly and hid her face, only daring to look up again when Otohime had almost passed.

Those that saw laughed, and the tension drained from the people like water from a bath. Otohime was grateful for it. Too much stress from too many people always gave her a headache, and the events of the day had already taken their toll on her endurance.

Emboldened by her reception, Otohime wandered closer to her guide. "Forgive me, sir, but I didn't catch your name before."

The man blinked in surprise. "I never gave it, Your Highness. My name is Mifune."

"I don't want to sound ungrateful. Thank you, Mr. Mifune, for your assistance thus far, and please forgive me if I cause any offence. My only knowledge of the surface comes from books."

Mifune slowed to a stop as they reached the bandolas, hands clasped behind his back as he very pointedly refused to look at her. His expression was a perfect mask of servile obedience, but something within him flared. Otohime didn't know him well enough to tell if it was anger, frustration, or some combination of both. In the distance someone called out that their bandola was ready to board, but Otohime hardly noticed. Her entire focus was on the man right in front of her.

"A word of advice, Your Highness: On the surface people like you don't talk to people like me," Mifune said, his voice barely audible.

"Because I'm a mermaid?" Otohime asked.

"No, Your Highness. Because I'm a slave."

 

* * *

The view from the bandola was spectacular. Otohime had always wondered how the humans managed to climb up and down the Red Line, and the solution was nothing short of genius. The same resin produced on the Saboady Archipelago was harvested to help the platforms raise up into the sky. The resin was reinforced with the coating technology that allowed ships to sail ten thousand meters under the sea and used in conjunction with a sophisticated pulley system to raise and lower the bandolas. The insides were luxurious, spacious, and climate controlled; perfectly fit for the royalty that often employed them.

As Otohime and Mifune were raised to the Holy Land of Mariejois they were greeted with a grand view of the ocean below. The sun was sinking rapidly in the sky, and the horizon looked like a canvas of burnt orange and inky purple. It was so beautiful Otohime's heart ached at the sight of it. The sheer scale of the surface was beyond compression. She was nearing the top of the world, with miles of visibility in every direction, yet was still only seeing a tiny portion of what the surface had to offer. Not even the Saboady Archipelago was visible as they disappeared into the mist and cloud, and it was near enough that the threat of a marine admiral was enough to keep the pirates there in line as they sought passage into the New World.

And yet the natural splendor was tarnished by the knowledge Mifune was a slave. After dropping the surprising revelation he made a point to answer Otohime's questions with as few words as possible. When this duty was done he fell into pensive silence. More than once Otohime caught him glancing warily at the men working the bandola.

The last thing Otohime wanted was to put Mifune in danger, and eventually she kept her question she to herself, instead gazing out at the open sea. The world looked so different here, as if the ocean were a single pane of unbroken glass. The simple change in perspective made the waves all-but-invisible, hiding the dangers of the sea in a sparkling vista.

There was a lesson in that somewhere, but Otohime was too tired to tease it out.

The air grew cooler as they rose, and Otohime's headache worsened. Without thinking she rubbed her forehead, trying to force the discomfort away so she could concentrate.

"The air is thinner here, Your Highness," Mifune said without turning to look at her. Was there anything he didn't notice? "Your body will adjust with time."

Just as they reached the lowest hanging clouds the bandola slowed to a stop where a stairway had been carved directly into the Red Line. Mifune led Otohime to a waiting group of armored guards and said, "A moment, please. I must notify the castle of our impending arrival."

As he stepped away to make a call on the den-den mushi Otohime stared wondrously at the path that would lead to her country's future. The red stone steps were worn from countless feet that had made the journey before her. Hidden in the walls of the Red Line were enormous statues of the founding kings, each at least one hundred meters tall.

 _These men made themselves giants_ , Otohime mused, craning her head trying to see their cloaked faces in the swirling mist. Rising in the distance were the crenulated walls that surrounded the city of Mariejois. _Or gods_.

"This way, Your Highness," Mifune said. A troubled frown deepened the craggy lines of his face as he tucked the den-den mushi into his uniform pocket, gone just as quickly as it appeared.

Up the stairs they went, through the gates of the city and into the sprawling expanse that was Mariejois. A wide cobbled path led to yet another gate, framed on either side by a carpet of green grass and stretches of forest. A brook bubbled contentedly as it cut through the idyllic countryside, completing the picturesque beauty on the outskirts of the city.

Tentatively Otohime moved from the path onto the grass. It was as soft as a feather bed beneath her fins, yielding under her weight to cool earth. Oh, it was so wonderful! Otohime had dreamed of this day for as long as she could remember, and she could scarcely believe she wasn't dreaming now.

"Your Highness?" Mifune said quizzically.

"Forgive my indulgence," Otohime said before returning to the armored knights. One handed her a balancing stick and brusquely explained the concept of the travellator. Intrigued by the notion of a sidewalk that moved itself, Otohime took the stick and stepped back on to the cobbled path.

Only for her dream to turn into a nightmare.

Otohime's stomach churned, summersaulting in her belly as wave after wave of nausea ripped through her. Something foul was rotting beneath their feet. It stank of death and misery, of pain and degradation…

"Your Highness?"

Otohime looked up at Mifune, her eyes wild. Did he know what was happening underground? Could he hear the Voices, or feel their hellish existence just below them?

Did he know they were standing on a graveyard?

"Just my head," Otohime said weakly. "Perhaps the air is affecting me more than I thought."

"All the more reason to get you settled," Mifune replied. He nodded to the knights, and by some unspoken cue the travellator lurched forward.

That only made the Voices louder, and it took every ounce of Otohime's strength not to throw up.

Otohime suffered through the short journey to the Pangea Castle. She was no longer in the mood for sightseeing and allowed herself to be taken through the Mingling Plaza and front gate with minimal distraction. The castle was built for use during the Reverie, and was scaled to match. It easily dwarfed her own Ryuugu Palace, but in a moment of nationalism Otohime decided she preferred the chaotic splendor of Fishman Island to the impeccable structure of Mariejois, which upon first glance seemed to be made entirely of straight lines and angles.

The knights stayed behind as they entered the castle proper, once again leaving Otohime alone with Mifune. The hairs on the back of Otohime's neck prickled as she felt the presence of a dozen security snails—some out in the open, and others hidden. Muscled men in dark suits and guns on their hips were strategically placed, hawkish gaze trained on servants wearing red uniforms identical to Mifune.

Red for slaves, black for free men, with the Celestial Dragons watching over both. With two years until the next Reverie the Pangea Castle was largely empty, and if the thickening tension was anything to go by all the extra attention was going to her.

Mifune led her up a winding staircase with intricate wrought iron lattice work. The hallways were polished marble with plush carpets deadening the sound as they walked. Decorating the white walls were portraits of various Celestial Dragons, each framed with gold.

Up and up they went, to the highest floor of the castle. Otohime could think of no other reason other than pettiness to put her in such an inconvenient location with so many open rooms available. Finally Mifune stopped at a door made of dark, heavy wood, carved with rose thorns and the Hoof of the Soaring Dragon. He produced a key and said,

"Welcome to the Rose Suite, Your Highness. You will be staying here for the duration of your stay."

The door swung open, revealing a girl standing at rigid attention. She wore the bright red uniform of a slave and a petrified expression, and at the sight of her Mifune's ironclad composure cracked.

"Jean, what are you doing here? I asked for Ami or Francis."

The girl shrugged, seemingly unaffected by his glower. "Bosses said I was to come up, so I came up. Was just doing what I was told."

Curious brown eyes flickered to Otohime for a moment, before finding an interesting spot on the floor to stare at. Otohime wasn't the best at judging human age, but she guessed the girl to be between twelve and fourteen years old, with gangling arms and a rather plain face that had not lost the roundness of childhood. Coarse brown hair was cropped in a severe and unflattering haircut, just barely reaching the length of her jaw. A light dusting of freckles were sprinkled over the bridge of her nose, shifting as she wrinkled her nose in an unhappy expression.

"You were chosen?" Mifune said incredulously.

"D'you think I'd be up here otherwise?" Jean snapped. Then remembering her manners she bowed clumsily at Otohime. "Begging your pardon, Highness. I've been asked to look after you, with it being your first time on Mariejois and all that. She gestured vaguely behind her, were three large bags were sitting. "Your stuff's already been brought up. I took the liberty of puttin' everything away for you."

 _And searching to make sure I didn't bring anything dangerous_ , Otohime thought wryly. "Thank you, Jean. I'm sure we'll get along swimmingly."

Mifune looked helplessly between Jean and Otohime, but whoever had assigned the girl to the queen obviously had more authority than he did. Clenching his hands into fists, he forced a more neutral expression.

"Very well. I will leave you two to get settled. If there is anything you need, Your Highness, _anything at all_ , don't hesitate to let me know. Ask any of the servants, they'll know where to find me."

"A moment please," Otohime said as he turned to leave. "I must speak with the Celestial Dragons as soon as possible. Do you know how I could go about arranging a meeting?"

Mifune went very still while Jean's eyes bulged. There was an awkward silence. "I'll notify the correct channels, Your Highness," Mifune said.

"How long will that take?" Otohime asked.

"I will inform my superiors posthaste. Beyond that…I don't know. I'm sorry. I can't say anything more."

Realizing that was the best she would get for now, Otohime inclined her head. "Thank you, Mr. Mifune. I appreciate all you've done."

Perhaps he was simply getting easier for her to read, but Otohime could see how her words disarmed him. "I, er. You're Welcome, Your Highness. Good night."

Mifune quietly stepped out of the suite, shutting the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, Otohime turned and looked at her surroundings.

To the Celestial Dragons credit, it was a room fit for a queen. A four poster bed with rich velvet curtains was nestled on the back wall. At the foot of the bed was a claw-foot chaise lounge sofa, perfect for reclining, while at the other side of the room was a small table and chairs where Otohime could receive visitors. A large silk tapestry blazoned with the symbol of the World Government hung proudly over a fireplace, unlit in the summer heat, and on the south wall was an enormous window that spanned nearly a third of the suite.

There was a crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, roses expertly carved into the stucco moldings, and a mahogany desk so large two people could use it at a time with plenty of room to spare. Otohime was overwhelmed and awed, but there was a part of her that held back. She couldn't fully appreciate the opulence of her lodging while the Voices of countless slaves swirled through Pangea Castle.

"Your Highness?" Jean ventured as Otohime tried to take in the events that had transpired thus far.

"Yes, Jean?"

"It's a little bit late for you to go with everyone else in the banquet hall, but I could bring you up some food if you want."

Otohime looked down at the girl. "There are other people here?"

She bobbed her head. "Yes'm. Some people have ambassadors that stay year round for politicking. Sometimes kings and queens come even when it's not the Reverie because something's happened in their country. Kinda like you, I suppose."

"Interesting," Otohime murmured before sweeping toward the walk in closet where Jean had—incorrectly—hung up the clothes she brought for the journey. The girl followed like a second shadow, prickling with anxiety as Otohime absentmindedly corrected the mistake. "To be honest, I'm not all that hungry. Perhaps in the morning I'll feel up to joining the other dignitaries. Do you know what time breakfast is, dear?"

"Uh, between eight and ten. Your Highness," she added belatedly.

"Don't worry, I don't care much for formalities. You may call me Queen Otohime if you'd like." Otohime turned toward Jean, feeling an instinctual wariness rising within her. "Although I would appreciate it if you informed the kitchens that mermaids eat a vegetarian diet."

Jean gasped, eyes widening. "So it's true. You're from Fishman Island!" Curiosity, it seemed, wasn't something Mariejois had beaten out of her yet. Her gaze dropped to the hem of Otohime's kimono, as if she could see her fins if she stared hard enough. "I had friends who swore they saw mermaids at the archipelago, but I never did."

"You're from Saboady?" Otohime asked.

"Grove Twenty-Two, born and bred," she said proudly. She opened her mouth to say more, but caught herself, cringing. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"

Otohime rested her hands on Jean's shoulders, feeling how they tensed under the gentle touch. "Don't apologize. I'm not angry."

The breath Jean had been holding left her like a deflating balloon. "Oh."

"I take it this isn't your normal job?" Otohime asked sympathetically. Jean shook her head.

"And I take it your job is to follow me around and make sure I don't cause any trouble?"

There was a heartbeat of hesitation, then a nod.

"That was a cruel thing to ask of someone unused to such tasks," Otohime said quietly. She moved to leave the closet, but before she did plucked a small den-den mushi off of the wall.

Jean followed Otohime as they returned to the main room of the suite, and then watched as Otohime made a circuit of the room and removed each of the surveillance snails—including one fiendishly hidden in the linen closet of the lavatory. Otohime set all of them, seven in total, in a neat row.

"I want these gone," Otohime said, brooking no room for compromise. "In this room, at least, I will have some semblance of the privacy afforded to other guests."

Jean swallowed hard. "Yes, Your Highness."

Softening her tone, Otohime said, "You can tell your…superiors…that I have come on a mission of peace. All I ask in return is to be treated as a person."

"Yes, Your Highness," Jean said, and at that moment she looked very young. Too young to carry the burden of living as a slave, and too young to carry out the orders she had been given. How many other royals would have tolerated being assigned an untrained slave to follow them around like a lost guppy?

"Perhaps tomorrow we could get to know one another better, but right now I am very tired," Otohime said. "I will be ready for breakfast around eight o'clock."

Jean bobbed her head, recognizing the clear dismissal. "If you need anything in the night you can ring the bell."

She gathered up the snails and melted out of the room. If nothing else Jean was quiet. As soon as she was gone Otohime slumped into bed and massaged her aching head. She stayed that way for several long moments, before gathering her energy once more to get changed for bed.

It took a more time than she would have liked to find the gown she used to sleep in. Fatigue was seeping into her bones as she shuffled into the lavatory for her nightly toilette.

Any other day Otohime would have found the sea-shell sink amusing, but today she could only be annoyed by the fact that her toothbrush as not in the appropriate holder. Nor was it behind the mirror or in her bag. After spending a fruitless and frustrating fifteen minutes searching Otohime was forced to conclude it wasn't in the Rose Suite at all.

Also missing was a small compact mirror and a set of pearl earrings. Any one of the missing items could have been explained as being left behind in the rush to pack, but together…

Otohime had neither the energy nor desire to think about why someone would have stolen her toothbrush. She finished the rest of her nightly routine and returned to the main room of the suite in time to see the sun setting over the horizon. From the top story her view over the city was unparalleled, and she smiled at the sight of the skyline awash with golden light.

Otohime focused on the setting sun rather than the finger-shaped bruises on her arms, or her near brush with captivity, or the agonized Voices hidden in the tunnels she was sure existed under Mariejois. Unwilling to miss the last vestiges of sunlight, Otohime kept the curtains parted as she slid into bed. 

And so ended Otohime's first day on the surface, not with an enthusiastic rallying cry for the betterment of Fishman Island, but with the deep and dreamless slumber woman unsure of the road that lay ahead.


	4. Morning of the Second Day

Otohime woke to the sun streaming on her face. She blinked sleep-crusted eyes, for a moment disorientated by her surroundings. This was not her bedroom, and her husband was not by her side. Slowly memories trickled in from the day before, and Otohime bolted upright. She was on the surface. She was on the surface and had been woken by the sun.

Rubbing her eyes, Otohime walked wondrously to the window. She’d left the curtains pulled, not thinking that the light that sunk below the horizon would surely rise again. Laughing at her own ignorance, she pressed her fingers against the glass. If anything the sunrise was even more beautiful than the sunset the night before as pink and gold light spilled over the cityscape. No artist could do justice the sight that stretched before her, for what paint could capture the warm kiss she felt even through the glass, and what canvas could stretch enough to capture the whole of the sky?

Otohime would have been content spending the duration of the sunrise playing the part of the poet, but there was work to be done and so little time to do it. With a wistful sigh she pulled herself away from the window and started to get ready for the day. She sorely missed the presence of her toothbrush, but made due with what she had. Otohime had an inkling suspicion of who had taken it—along with the earrings and mirror—although the motive for such a theft still bewildered her. As she scrubbed the last vestiges of sleep from her face Otohime hoped that she could find a replacement before anyone noticed, both for her sake and the thief’s.

From there her mind wandered to other, more pressing matters, such as the problem of what she was to wear. Otohime wasn’t used to interacting with other heads of state, and back on Fishman Island she never felt the need to impress anyone, at least not with her clothing.

Mariejois was another story. It was an unfortunate fact of life that people did, in fact, judge by appearances. Fishmen were already derided by the world in general and the Celestial Dragons in particular, and Otohime could not afford to have them look down on her for choosing the wrong kimono.

It was situations like these were a true lady’s maid familiar with the particularities of Mariejois would have been helpful, but Otohime had been given a lady’s maid, and she doubted Jean had any insight into this particular dilemma. Otohime had until eight o’clock to figure out how she was going to present herself to the world of Mariejois, and she was at a loss of how she was going to do it.

She had been staring at her closet for several moments when there was a knock at the door. Otohime quickly found a robe she could wear over her sleeping clothes and hurried to answer, surprising to see Mifune’s lanky frame towering in the doorway.

“Your Highness, if I’ve come at a bad time…”

“Nonsense,” Otohime said blithely. “It was I who opened the door. How may I be of assistance?”

Mifune blinked owlishly, the only sign belaying his surprise. He reached into the breast pocket of his uniform and handed Otohime a slip of paper. “News of your arrival has spread. King Cobra of Alabasta has invited you to break your fast with him in the Chamber of Flowers.”

Otohime skimmed the formal invitation, written on heavy paper and stamped with what she presumed to be the king’s seal. “I don’t know where the Chamber of Flowers is.”

“Jean can guide you,” Mifune said. “Do you wish for me to tell the king you accept?”

“Do you know what he wants to discuss?” Otohime asked.

“I would not presume to know the mind of a king, Your Highness,” Mifune said. There was a moment of hesitation as his eyes flickered to see if they were being watched. “I can tell you that His Highness has an impeccable reputation throughout the world as a wise man and an upstanding leader of his country.”

“Is that so?” Otohime murmured, her mind whirling with possibilities. “Very well. You may tell His Highness that I gratefully accept his invitation, unless it would be better for me to write him myself?”

“That will not be necessary, at least not for this king,” Mifune said. He bowed deeply to take his leave, only for Othime to stop him with a raised hand.

“Mifune, wait. There is one more thing.”

“Is something the matter?” he asked. “Is it Jean?”

Otohime shook her head. “No, Jean is doing her best to perform the duties she’s been asked.” Though Mifune’s expression did not change his relief was nearly palpable. She continued, “My problem is that in my rush to reach the surface, I have managed to forget some things on Fishman Island. I was wondering if I could be given some replacements.”

Otohime could almost hear his spirit say, _Is that all?_ and he bowed again. “I will make sure it is done.”

Smiling, Otohime murmured her thanks and rattled off half a dozen small, inconspicuous items, hoping that the lost toothbrush would not stand out among them. If Mifune thought it odd—or thought _her_ odd for being so absentminded—he didn’t show it.

“And one last thing,” Otohime said, “I have great plans for what I hope to be accomplished during my visit, but is there anything expected of _me_ while I’m here?”

“That is…a very large question, Your Highness, and one I’m not suited to answer,” Mifune said. “However…”

His voice trailed off even as his emotions trembled with the thought of being caught. “It’s all right,” Otohime said softly. “I’m sure I can manage on my own.”

“The King of Alabasta is respected throughout the world,” Mifune said, his voice scarcely above a whisper. “I will tell him to expect you in the Room of Flowers.”

* * *

Jean arrived at the stroke of eight. Her coarse brown hair was neatly combed and still damp from a morning wash, her cheeks the clean, pink color that could only be obtained after a vigorous scrubbing. Her expression was wary and her spirit cautious as Otohime invited her into the Rose Suite. She scrunched her nose in confusion at the sight of the queen.

“You’re dressed already.”

“Yes I am,” Otohime said.

“I thought I was supposed to help you with that kind of stuff,” Jean said.

“I have always made due before,” Otohime said. “I will require your assistance with other, more important matters.”

Jean perked at the word _important_. “Really?”

Otohime smiled softly. Children so often felt the need to be useful, and there was no point drawing attention to how unprepared Jean was for the role she had been given.

Which begged the question, _why_ had she been given it in the first place?

“I am here to promote relations between Fishman Island and the surface world. _You_ , my dear, are the human I’m likely to see most often on this journey. In a way that makes you one of the most important people I will meet while on Mariejois,” Otohime said.

“I am?” Jean asked, eyes widening in alarm.

“Of course,” Otohime said. “But we can discuss that more at another time. I’m expected to meet the King of Alabasta for breakfast, and I’m told you’re to guide me.”

“Uh, sure, Your Highness.” At once her defenses were back up, strong and sudden as a steel trap and wariness giving to outright suspicion. She shuffled to where the invitation lay. Squinting down at the writing, she let her finger’s brushing over the king’s seal. “Where’re you going to?”

Otohime was upset, but not entirely surprised, to know the girl couldn’t read. She’d gathered enough from the shipwrecked victims she’d saved and the fishmen who survived perilous journeys to the surface to know that the grove Jean so proudly hailed from was a den of lawlessness and poverty.

Fishmen weren’t the only species hurt by the slave trade. She wondered how many of her people understood that.

“The Chamber of Flowers,” Otohime said. “We should start heading there now; it wouldn’t do to keep the king waiting.”

Soon they were walking down the endless staircases. About three stories down Otohime wondered if there wasn’t an elevator service, and if there was, if she were allowed to use it. But she didn’t complain, half-afraid that such a luxury would somehow be powered by slave labor. As incontinent and time consuming as it was, it was better to walk.

Empty as it was outside of the Reverie, Pangea Castle was starting to come to life. It was a strange sensation on Otohime’s senses, so different than her own Ryuugu Palace. There was spectacular variance within the collective conscience, like a dish with too many strong, warring flavors. The guests—whether monarchs, ambassadors, or other high ranking members of state—were comfortable. Sometimes irritated, sometimes worried, but _comfortable_. Their slaves were not, and their state of constant terror grated against Otohime’s empathy like nails on a chalkboard.

Watching over them both was the sharp, ever-present consciousness of the freemen in black. A handful were stationed on the stairwell, watching Otohime and Jean’s descent, each making a point of staring them down with their hands on their weapons.

Otohime stared right back, chin lifted defiantly, but at the sight of them Jean shrunk down, a turtle retreating into its shell. There was nothing Otohime could do to protect her, and she dare not speak to Jean in their presence. The men in black knew that and reveled in it like schoolyard bullies. One even grinned before spitting at Otohime’s fins as she passed.

“You were looking a little dry, Highness.”

Otohime stopped dead in her tracks and looked down at the hem of her kimono. It was a more intricate pattern than she typically wore, a beautiful seabed of fish and flowers transitioning to a dark blue ocean. She’d almost not worn it, fearing it a little to on the nose to be tasteful, before deciding she had no reason to hide who she was or why she was here.

And this human had spat on it, simply because he could without fear of consequence.

Otohime looked the man in the eye. His grin widened, and he let out a wheezy chuckle. But she didn’t look away, and soon a stirring of discomfort started rolling in his belly.

“Your Highness,” Jean said nervously, “we’re goin’ this way.”

Otohime paid her no mind. She was careful to keep a look of placid bemusement, and any of the surveillance snails could clearly see that she was not threatening him in any way. But she didn’t break eye contact.

Ten seconds past. Then twenty. The silence stretched until it felt like the stairwell itself was holding its breath, waiting for whatever happened next. The man’s smile faded, then turned into a grimace.

Thirty seconds. Forty-five. A full minute went by before he finally was the one to look away, bright red and shamefaced.

“Excusing your pardon, Your Highness. I…I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Otohime inclined her head, the picture of the benevolent noblewoman. “You are excused. Now, if you would be so kind as to remove yourself from my presence, I must be going on now.”

This startled and baffled the freeman, but he did as she said and as soon as he was out of sight Otohime gave Jean the signal to continue. The girl shook her head in disbelief, barely containing a smile of her own. She muttered to herself, just loud enough for Otohime to hear,

_“Holy shit.”_

* * *

The Chamber of Flowers was that it was named much more literally than Otohime ever would have guessed. A carpet of flowers and sweet-smelling grass covered the floor from wall to wall, nestling against moss-covered trees and climbing vines that stretched upward toward the vaulted ceiling. Stepping inside the entranceway, a pale white butterfly flew by Otohime’s nose while koi fish swam in a pool of crystal clear water. Otohime paused to greet them, amazed at the natural beauty that was somehow able to exist indoors.

“You can talk to fish,” Jean said, her eyes wide with awe.

“Sometimes. Since I’ve brought nothing to eat these ones don’t feel like talking back,” Otohime said as she straightened herself. In truth they were well-cared for and happy, if a little gluttonous. She shook her head. What sort of people would spare such attention for a few fish, and not do the same for the slaves under their care?

“There he is, Your Highness,” Jean said, pointing to two men standing at the other side of the room. Pausing only to dry her hands, Otohime gently pushed down her arm.

“It’s rude to point."

The King of Alabasta was a tall, proud man of about forty years of age, his face brown and weathered after a lifetime living in the sun. He wore loose, colorful robes that fit with the cheerful disposition of his spirit. At the sight of her, a warm smile spread across his face. It was genuine, and Otohime felt herself relax for the first time all morning.

He was standing next to another man, who despite his superior height was obviously subservient to the king. His most prominent feature was what Otohime hoped to be a giant wig, his hair rolled into giant blond curls that did little to flatter a rather squashed face. Despite his eccentric appearance, he had the steadying presence of someone who knew what they were doing, and were competent in doing it.

Greetings were exchanged, and King Cobra introduced Otohime to his chief advisor Igaram before ushering her to a small table heavy with food. He spared a small, confused look at Jean, and Otohime took it upon herself to explain, “She’s been assigned to me as a guide and aid while on Mariejois, courtesy of the Celestial Dragons.”

There was a flicker of concern, quickly wiped away by another smile. “I see. The thoughtfulness and hospitality of the high nobility is quite remarkable, isn’t it?”

Humor twinkled in his dark eyes, and Otohime knew it wasn’t meant to be a compliment. The king continued,

“I was informed that mermaids are vegetarian. I hope you find this sufficient; my father always told me it was impossible to enjoy one’s company with an empty stomach.”

It was more than sufficient. Otohime and the king helped themselves to more food they could possibly stomach, including oranges, grapes, and a delightful fruit called a rambutan that before peeling had the appearance of an anemone. There were eggs poached, scrambled, and hardboiled, and bread in charming shapes so beautiful Otohime felt guilty chewing the head off of a baked dragon. At the center of it all was large portions of ful madems, a dish made of stewed fava beans, garlic, lemon juice, and oil that the king claimed was famous in his homeland of Alabasta.

As they ate, Otohime realized how completely _at ease_ King Cobra was within his surroundings, and how odd that felt in comparison to everyone she had met on the surface thus far. He fit with the tranquility of the Room of Flowers. Encouraged by this, she swallowed a bite of bread and carefully stepped past the pleasantries they had been exchanging.

“What brings you to Mariejois two years before the Reverie?”

The king waved a hand dismissively. “There have been some changes within the Government that will have a direct effect on my nation. It’s probably nothing, but I needed to be sure.”

A king didn’t travel the dangerous waters between Alabasta and the Red Line for _nothing,_ but the king didn’t give her a chance to press the issue.

“To be honest, I was meant to depart this morning after a meeting with the Fleet Admiral, but when I heard the news I felt it more important to stay. There hadn’t been an ambassador from Fishman Island in…well…”

“Diplomatic relations have to start somewhere, Your Highness,” Otohime said. “Fishman Island is two centuries overdue.”

“Fair enough.” He took a sip milk tea served in the traditional Alabastian style, spiced with ginger and cardamom. It was too sweet for Otohime’s taste, and she took hers black. After a moment of introspection, King Cobra said, “Then you’re looking to be chosen for one of the fifty seats of the Reverie.”

Though it wasn't phrased as a question, Otohime got the feeling he was fishing for information. “Are you offering to help?”

The king set down his cup, his eyes flickering to where Jean sat, listening to their every word. “There are a certain number of seats reserved by the Government for nations of enough strategic importance that it would affect the world’s security if they weren't involved. Alabasta is one such nation. The remaining affiliated countries are rotated through on a routine basis. A nation may give up their seat in favor of another, but it happens so rarely I can’t remember the last time it happened. Igaram, can you think of any?”

“No,” Igaram said.

“However,” King Cobra said as he heaped a pile of food on an extra plate, “Two centuries is two centuries, and as you say, Fishman Island is overdue for their place at the table.”

He handed the plate to Igaram and jerked his head toward Jean. Igaram’s unease was as sour as an unripe lemon, but he did as he was told and gave her the food. Otohime watched as she tore into a roll with terrible ferocity and almost choked herself gulping down a cup of piping hot tea.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I didn’t think it would look well on either of us if I were to give her anything.”

“No, but you are my guest, and your arrangement with the Celestial Dragons is none of my business. It is my prerogative to treat the servants of the castle however I please.”

“Servants?” Otohime said, quirking an eyebrow.

The king lowered his voice so he was scarcely audible. “Slavery is illegal, Your Highness, and there are some nations that would have nothing to do with the practice. The façade is necessary for the nobles to upkeep, as transparent as it is.”

Otohime’s eyes narrowed.

“If there’s something you want, then there are a set of rules that must be abided by. Otherwise you’re just mashing your head against an immovable wall. Trust me, I’ve tried,” King Cobra said. Leaning forward, he laced his fingers together. “So I must ask, Your Highness, what is your purpose here?”

There was a beat of silence, then Otohime asked, “Do you have any children, Your Highness?”

“One,” he said warmly. “A daughter.”

“Then I think you’ll understand. I want what all parents want, and that is for my children not to experience the same hardship and difficulty that has burdened my people for generations. For that to happen the distance between the species must be bridged. _That_ is why I’m here, and that’s why I _must_ have an audience with the Celestial Dragons. A seat at the Reverie is a beginning, but for a difference to be truly made there must be more than the symbolic act of sitting at a table. There must be change. Real, objective, _measurable_ change.”

A line appeared between the king’s eyebrows. “I was always taught that yours was a secluded race. That you choose isolation of your own volition.”

“Have you ever met a fishman, Your Highness?”

“No.”

“A mermaid other than myself?”

“…No.”

The intensity in Otohime’s voice grew. “Do you know the type of humans who come to Fishman Island?”

“I don’t,” the king admitted.

“Occasionally we see the adventuresome sightseer or a merchant who chooses the danger of the sea floor rather than pay the fees to cross the Red Line, but the vast majority of the humans who enter Fishman Island are pirates seeking illegal entry into the New World. Despite our status as a member of the World Government there is no marine presence on our island. We live directly below the Saboady Archipelago and the humans who do business there.”

The color drained out of the king’s face.

“I cannot afford to play by Mariejois’s rules, Your Highness,” Otohime said softly. “I ask again, _are you offering to help?_ Because if not, I must thank you for the wonderful meal and bid you a good day, because I don’t have time to waste doing nothing.”

It was a gamble to press so hard so quickly, but it was one Otohime was willing to take. She sensed his surprise, born out of genuine ignorance rather than any real malice. He was the sort of king who would postpone his journey home just to speak with her, and the sort of man who would extended a benevolent hand to the hungry.

King Cobra took a bite of his ful madems, chewing methodically as he thought. Otohime could feel the hair at the nape of her neck prickle as Igaram and Jean both waited for his decision.

“It seems I have much to learn about Fishman Island,” he said finally. “I think it would be wise if I waited one more day before returning home. Could I entice you to join me for dinner tonight, after I’ve had more time to brush up on my history?”

“I’ve always thought it best to learn from a local,” Otohime said, smiling despite herself.

“Perhaps, but if you want to talk to a Dragon directly then you’re in need of some education of your own. I would suggest the Royal Library. I’ve always found their legal section fascinating.”

“We have different taste in books, but I thank you for the advice, Your Highness,” Otohime said.

The king extended his hand. “Please, call me Cobra.”

Otohime clasped his hand with her own, feeling the heavy callouses on the inside of his palms. It was just as well that Cobra was no stranger to hard work. It was early yet, but unless Otohime found more likeminded men and woman to join them, they were no more powerful than two of the Chamber's butterflies flying into a hurricane.


End file.
